To Catch a Fever
by sayrae3times
Summary: Set during the episode "Fever". Clark is dying and with Martha already near death, Jonathan’s all that’s left to save them. Missing scenes as well as my own interpretation of what happened.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Disclaimer - Please note that I do __**NOT**__ own any rights or credits to __Smallville__ or any of its characters, places, etc. Darn it._

--

**To Catch a Fever**

_Summary: Set during the episode Fever. Clark is dying and with Martha already near death, Jonathan's all that's left to save them. Missing scenes as well as my own interpretation of what happened._

--

Lana swallowed when she saw him, standing alone on his front porch. He had his back to her, staring off into the darkness. Even at a distance, she could tell he had a lot on his mind. She couldn't imagine what he was going through right now. The past few weeks crossed her mind and she pursed her lips. She'd been so angry with Clark the last time they'd spoken he may not even want to talk to her. She was still angry, but she knew deep inside her heart that she still cared deeply for Clark, and no matter how many arguments and secrets that came between them, he'd been the one constant good in her life. Clark had always been there in her time of need, now it was her turn.

"Clark?" she said, trying to keep her voice low enough not to startle him.

He turned, the hardness that set his jaw immediately melting away when he saw her. He looked tired, worried.

"Hi Lana," he replied and stepped across the porch to meet her at the top of the stairs.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she said softly.

Clark shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her a half-hearted, but grateful smile. Lana took her place across from him. Even if he didn't want to talk, she hoped her presence would at least bring some comfort to him.

She had heard through the Smallville grapevine that Martha Kent was rushed to the hospital earlier that morning. It wasn't until she had visited the hospital herself that she realized just how serious her condition was. Martha had inhaled some sort of toxin, unidentifiable and presumably fatal. Mrs. Kent was strong, and her body was fighting the dangerous infection, but it was a task she had to do on her own; even her loved ones couldn't fight the battle for her. And that fact alone was killing Clark, that there was nothing he could do to help her.

It was odd, in a way, seeing Clark so resigned. He was always so strong, so confident. Clark always had the answers. As much as it was irritating to her sometimes, she'd come to realize that that was what she relied on him most for, his quiet confidence and personal strength. Now, both qualities were being tested. She could tell in his eyes that he was running things over and over in his mind, trying desperately to find a solution to the problem they faced, but was drawing a blank. It wasn't in his nature to give up, but it was only human to have doubts. It was one thing to pull a person out of a flaming vehicle, it was another entirely to heal the terminally ill.

Clark wheezed, then visibly shivered.

Lana furrowed her brows, concern flickering across her lovely features, but Clark smiled and his smile was enough to put her mind at ease.

"It's weird how random memories can just pop into your head, huh?" he said, trying to sound stronger than he really felt. He wheezed again, this time a look of discomfort washing his expression. He continued, "When I was in second grade I was afraid to go to school because I thought my mom would disappear while I was gone and never come back. I wouldn't even get on the bus in the morning until she promised she'd be there when I got home. Sure enough, every day there she was when I walked through the door."

He frowned and she could tell he was holding back an enormous amount of emotion. Clark loved his mother. Having lost both parents at an early age, Lana understood the pain all too well. "Don't worry Clark," she said and gave him her most reassuring smile. "In a few days you'll walk through that door and your mom will be there again."

Clark tried to smile in return but something strange passed over his eyes. He wheezed again, this time his breath caught in his throat and he struggled to breath.

"Clark? You okay?" Lana asked, growing more concerned.

His eyelids drooped alarmingly and suddenly he wasn't holding himself up anymore.

When Clark suddenly slumped forward, Lana jumped to catch him, but she wasn't fast enough. He tumbled down the stairs, landing hard on the ground below.

Lana's breath left her and she screamed, "Clark!"

Racing down the steps she dropped to her knees next to his body. He wasn't moving. "Clark. Oh god, Clark," she breathed, rolling him over.

He wasn't breathing.

"Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent!" she screamed.

--

Jonathan Kent heard Lana's terrified scream and came running. He burst through the kitchen door, his already frazzled nerves jumping to a million terrible conclusions. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the sight of his only son sprawled unconscious on the ground at the bottom of the porch stairs. Lana Lang was bent over him, her delicate fingers searching his neck for a pulse. Jonathan saw her terrified expression when she looked to him. "I don't think he's breathing!" she cried.

Jonathan flew down the steps, immediately dropping to his knees next to his son. Sure enough, he wasn't breathing. _Just like Martha. Oh god, Martha! Clark! _he thought despairingly. He couldn't lose Clark. Not Clark – not when he was so close to losing his wife, too.

Lana watched in horror as Jonathan Kent began to slap his son's face. "Come on, Clark!" he screamed, "Come on son!"

Whipping off his jacket he began to administer CPR, first breathing into his son's mouth then hurriedly pumping his chest. CPR had saved Martha…if he could just…

Lana finally found her voice. "I'll call an ambulance," she said, turning to rush into the house.

"Wait! Lana, no!" Mr. Kent suddenly cried, stopping her dead in her tracks. She turned her shocked expression on him but he had already turned his attention back to Clark. "Bryce," he said, pumping Clark's chest again. "Dr. Helen Bryce! Call her! No one else!" The panic in his voice frightened her. "Tell her to come alone!"

Numb and confused, Lana nodded, willing to obey if only for the well being of her friend. She turned and raced up the stairs, her mind flooded with questions. _What happened to Clark? Is he going to be okay? And why did Mr. Kent react like that when I mentioned calling an ambulance?_

She shivered, her hands trembling as she grasped the phone on the kitchen wall, remembering how limp Clark's body had felt when she had rolled him over and how terrified she had been when she realized he had stopped breathing. She dialed the number, which had blessedly been left by the phone in case of emergencies, with shaky fingers. Within a few rings a female voice answered.

Lana did her best to describe to the doctor what had happened in a few sentences; any longer and her trembling hands may have dropped the phone. Dr. Bryce had hesitated when Lana told her to come alone.

"Why?" the female doctor demanded.

"I don't know," Lana said honestly. "Mr. Kent just told me to tell you that."

Dr. Bryce made an irritated noise and then said gruffly, "I'll be right there."

Lana was hanging up the phone when Jonathan Kent entered through the kitchen door, Clark's unconscious form draped in his arms.

"Is he all right?" Lana gushed, the words spilling out of her before Mr. Kent was even through the door.

"He's breathing," Mr. Kent answered briskly, heading into the living room. "Lana, go upstairs in Clark's room and grab a pillow and blanket from the bed, would you please?"

She nodded and headed for the stairs, pausing momentarily at the foot of the staircase to watch Jonathan Kent carefully lay his son on the sofa. It was strange, seeing such a big man being so gentle. He lay Clark on the cushions and then smoothed the boy's tousled hair out of his face, resting his palms ever so tenderly on Clark's cheeks.

Lana flushed with emotion, something in between envy and longing, then turned to head up the stairs. She found Clark's bedroom at the end of the hall. It was small and sparse, since he kept most of his belongings in the loft where he spent most of his time. A desk was pressed in the corner, papers and schoolbooks scattered haphazardly across it. A modest twin-size bed was on the opposite wall, unmade and looking like if Clark were to lay on it, his feet would dangle off the end.

Lana grabbed the pillow and hand-stitched quilt from the bed and moved to leave when she caught a handful of picture frames out of the corner of her eye, resting atop a small oak dresser. There were several of Clark and his family, the portrait of perfection that they always seemed to be. She smiled at the one of Clark as a small boy, grinning proudly and holding up a very large fish that was nearly bigger than he was. There was one of he and Chloe and Pete at the _Torch_, one of Ryan, and one of…of her.

It wasn't just of her – it was both her and Clark on horseback. It was taken shortly after Whitney had left and Clark had been trying to help her keep her mind off him. _Good old Clark – always putting others feelings before his own._

With tears glistening in her eyes, she returned downstairs. Mr. Kent had removed Clark's shoes and was now attempting to remove his jacket. Lana set the items down and moved to help him. They worked together without a word. Jonathan carefully lifted Clark's upper body and Lana took his head in her hands and cradled him in her arms, taking his weight so that Mr. Kent could remove the jacket.

Clark was burning up. He was running a fever. With his head on her shoulder and his breath on her neck, a frightening thought crossed Lana's mind. _What if I lose Clark like I lost my parents…and Whitney?_

It was a thought she couldn't bare to dwell on. She found herself caressing his hair and hugging him to her. She didn't want to let go, but she forced herself to when Mr. Kent reached for his son. As gently as possible, she lay him against the pillow.

Everything forgotten, even the presence of another being in the room, Lana reached out and touched his cheek with a tender hand. His skin was hot to the touch and it frightened her, but she couldn't pull it away, not even when she felt compassionate hands grasping her own shoulders.

_It must be a Kent thing_, she thought bitterly. Here was a man who was not only facing losing his wife, but also his son and here he was comforting her. _Always trying to ease the pain of others, even when the pain is more unbearable for them._


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you call the doctor?" Mr. Kent asked, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze.

"Yeah," Lana answered, pulling her gaze away from her friend. "Dr. Bryce is on her way."

When he spoke she could sense the urgency in his tone. "Did you tell her to come alone?"

"Um, yeah," she replied, still somewhat confused. She had hoped he would explain himself but he only nodded. "Uh…Mr. Kent?" she prodded, struggling for the right words. "If you don't mind my asking, why was it so important she come alone?"

Jonathan Kent's eyes fell and when he looked back up at Lana she saw the strange mixture of longing and sorrow that always crossed Clark's face whenever he "couldn't" tell her something. She'd seen it so many times, that apologetic gaze that screamed both _I want to tell you_ and _I can't tell you_.

"Lana, I…" he began, but fell short of words. His weather-beaten face offered no clue as to what was going on behind his troubled eyes.

It was like she was looking at Clark in a different body but with the same pleading stare. _Now I know where he gets _it, she thought bitterly. Finally, he said, "You're just going to have to trust me."

_Trust you? _Lana stared at him. _Trust you? _She swallowed, her eyes searching his face for insincerity or sarcasm, finding neither.

She found herself nodding numbly. Jonathan stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "Please understand," he said, looking her dead in the eyes. Naked emotion hung in the air between them, amplified further by Lana's budding frustration and his own urgency.

"I'm already losing my wife," he said softly, "I _can't _lose my son, too."

Pursing her lips, Lana stared back at him, hoping, pleading for an explanation, but he offered none.

--

Dr. Helen Bryce opened the door to the Kent farm without a knock. She bustled into the living room with a slightly irritated, "What happened?"

Jonathan rose, allowing Dr. Bryce to sit in the chair at Clark's side. He turned to Lana and said, "Uh, Lana, would you…would you excuse us please?"

Lana nodded, composing herself as best she could. "Yeah," she replied. She didn't want to leave, not without knowing Clark was all right, even if Mr. Kent wanted to speak privately with the doctor. But it was getting late and Mr. Sullivan didn't go to bed until he knew both of his girls were home safe. It was nice knowing you had family at home waiting for you, albeit irritating at times.

Pausing at the door, she looked one last time at her friend. He looked so peaceful, like he was merely asleep.

She could only hope he'd be all right.

--

Dr. Bryce immediately opened her briefcase, removing a stethoscope.

The girl, the one whom she'd assumed had made the call, turned to leave but paused at the door, looking one last time at her friend. Then, she quietly left.

When he was sure Lana was safely out of hearing range, Jonathan turned to the female doctor. If she had any hope of helping his son, he had to be straight with her, and with Lana around he couldn't have taken that chance. It was a promise he and Martha had made to each other shortly after Clark had come into their lives, and one that to this day they still tried to instill in their son. Having a child that could lift a tractor at age three was information too dangerous to let out, so rather than risk scientists coming to the farm to take Clark away, it was kept a deeply guarded secret. He could only hope that Dr. Bryce would hold true to her doctor/patient oath.

But where to start?

Except for the time when a lightning strike transferred his gifts to a fellow classmate, Clark's only experience with physical vulnerability had come from his violent response to meteor-rocks. Knowing this, Jonathan had his own assumptions on where this spore had come from that had already claimed his wife.

"Clark was exposed to the same toxin his mother was," he said tightly.

Dr. Bryce tore the stethoscope out of her ears. "You should have called an ambulance!" she replied fiercely. "He needs to be in the hospital. We need to inform the DCA immediately."

Jonathan sighed. It was going to be a long night.

--

Lana tried to close the front door as softly as possible. It was late and the Sullivan house was dark. Obviously Mr. Sullivan was working late, otherwise he would have been in the living room waiting for her to come home. She sighed in relief. She hated to impose on their family, even if he was just staying up to make sure she got home safely.

She tiptoed to her room and switched on the light. The rose-colored walls were comforting; this had been her home since Nell sold their farm and moved on with her life. Lana was grateful to the Sullivans for letting her stay with them but right at that moment, all she wanted was to be back at the old farmhouse, closer to…Clark.

She didn't feel like sleeping. There was too much on her mind. Instead, she sat down at her vanity and buried her face in her hands.

"Lana Lang: night owl," Chloe's voice came from across the hall. She padded her fuzzy night-slippers to Lana's door and poked her head inside. "Whatever happened to going-to-bed-by-10:30-keeps-me-on-my-feet?" she teased.

Lana tried a smile, but when she looked up from her vanity Chloe saw the tears that glistened in her eyes.

"Lana, what's wrong?" she asked, abruptly turning serious.

Lana didn't answer immediately. Chloe could tell her friend was holding her breath, possibly in an effort to keep from losing it completely.

"It's Clark," Lana finally said. "Something happened to him tonight."

"What?" Chloe asked, sitting on the bed next to her.

Lana answered in a tumble of words. "I don't know," she said honestly, trying to regain her composure. It wouldn't do any good to upset Chloe too, not when they knew so little. "He was fine at first but then he started wheezing…" She tried to go on, but couldn't; it was no good. Her throat closed up and a wave of fresh tears surfaced.

Chloe took her friend's hand and gave it a compassionate squeeze. "I should have seen it coming," Lana continued, "He just didn't _look _like himself. He…uh…lost consciousness while I was talking to him and fell down the stairs. I tried to catch him but I couldn't. When he hit the ground I'd thought maybe he'd just fainted but, Chloe, he wasn't breathing!"

Chloe's face registered the shock before her brain did. In the seconds it took for the two to come together she lost her voice completely. When she found it again, it came out of her in a blur of questions.

"What do you mean he wasn't breathing? Is Clark okay? Is he hurt? Did you call an ambulance?"

"Mr. Kent wouldn't let me."

"Why?" Chloe demanded.

"I don't know," she answered hoarsely. "He wouldn't explain."

"So what happened? What did you do?"

"He told me to call Dr Bryce."

"Dr. _Helen _Bryce? Lex Luthor's new fling?"

Lana nodded and for one, frightening moment, Chloe realized she hadn't answered the one, really important question.

"Is Clark okay?" Chloe repeated the question.

Lana shrugged, wiping away tears that just wouldn't stop. "I don't know," she said. "Mr. Kent did CPR and got him to start breathing again but he never woke up. He was still unconscious when I left."

"Do you think he was exposed to the same kind of toxin his mom was?"

They both knew that the toxin Martha Kent was exposed to had been pronounced fatal. Chloe had overheard Dr. Bryce telling an orderly that she wouldn't live out the week. If it was true, if Clark had been exposed to the same spores his mother had been, then it could only mean one thing.

Clark Kent could now be dying.

"Oh my god," Chloe breathed. It was too much. She felt tears welling up in her own eyes and when she couldn't hold them back anymore, she responded in the only way she knew how. "I don't believe this!" she spat angrily. "Doesn't his dad realize that Clark's life is in danger? What was he thinking? Why didn't he take him to a hospital?!"

"I don't know." It seemed like that was all she had been saying all night. "Mr. Kent told me that he was already losing his wife, he wasn't going to lose his son, too."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Chloe raged.

Lana looked away. She knew Chloe was angry. But she also knew it was just a façade. Inside Chloe was just as confused and hurt and down right worried sick about Clark as she was. But whereas Lana's personality was to bottle it all up and cry to herself, Chloe wasn't capable of keeping such intense emotions inside. They seeped out of her through worry, frustration, and even anger.

Needing motion, any kind of motion, Chloe stood and paced the room. "This is heavy," she said. "I wasn't even sure if it was possible for Clark Kent _to_ get sick."

"I know," Lana agreed, shaking her head. Chloe had meant for it to be a joke, something to lighten the mood, but there was truth in it. Lana had known Clark since grade school and could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen him 'not feeling well'. Those instances almost always passed within a short amount of time, and it was usually nothing more than vertigo or a headache. She'd never seen Clark come down with so much a cold. The thought sparked her memory and her sorrow gave way just a little. "Remember our freshmen year when everyone came down with the flu?"

"Oh, yeah. I was sick for a week. Pete and I had to stay after school every day for almost a month just to catch up."

"I think I was one of the last to get sick, but everybody had it. Even Whitney. He was so mad because the doctor told him he couldn't play football until it cleared up. But Clark somehow managed to avoid it."

"Yeah, we teased him for months that he either had one heck of an immune system or being corn-fed all his life was doing more than just making him a giant."

There was a little twinkle in Lana's tired eyes. "Remember those dorky little Get-Well cards he made us?"

It didn't take long for Chloe to remember them. "Construction paper and crayons, I think."

Lana swallowed. "I think mine was supposed to be a duck that said something about feeling 'out of quack'."

"Mine said, 'don't croak' and it had a frog on it."

Both girls smiled wanly at the shared memory. Clark was always doing little things like that. _Little things we tend to take for granted_, Chloe thought bitterly. Like bringing her coffee the morning after she had pulled an all-nighter at the _Torch _and insisting on opening doors for her. Although she absolutely _loved _it when he brought her coffee, (because that meant he had been thinking about her) the first couple times Clark had opened doors for her had irritated her._ "I'm not an old woman, Clark," _she insisted, _"I'm perfectly capable of opening doors myself."_

He smiled, that smile that always made her melt, and said, _"Can't help it. It's my upbringing. You're just going to have to live with it."_ It was amazing what he could do with that Kent charm. Chloe had long since given up that losing battle.

Lana sighed heavily, pulling Chloe out from within herself. For the first time tonight, she got a good look at her friend. Lana's eyes were swollen from crying and she looked tired. Her expression was one of weariness, of sadness, and worst of all, fear. Despite their differences, Chloe's heart went out to her. There had always been a part of Chloe that resented Lana. She had everything. She was popular, beautiful, and she held the heart of the one man Chloe loved in the palm of her hand. She suspected Lana had feelings for Clark too, but for reasons unknown nothing had ever come about.

"Chloe? Lana?" came a voice from downstairs. The sound of the front door shutting rattled the little house.

"Dad's home," Chloe announced, "We should probably get to bed."

Lana nodded in agreement, grateful for the interruption. Chloe meant well, but at the moment, all she wanted was to be alone.

"Well, good night," Chloe said.

"Good night."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! If you are reading this - thank you! I was going to stop here but I've had so much fun with this I think I'm gonna keep going. Just a side note - the story was originally written without Chloe's "memories." I'm still not sure if I like it. Could someone please tell me if the memories are too much?**

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Part 3 **

Clark didn't show up for school over the next few days. That, in itself, was enough to make Chloe worried.

It was surreal.

Clark had a perfect attendance record since the first grade. He never missed school, let alone get sick. Pulling her little red Volkswagen to a stop next to the Kent farm, she unbuckled her seatbelt and glanced at her purse. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed it and hopped out of the car before she could change her mind. She made it to the gate before pausing. Was she really ready to do this? Could she handle seeing Clark…_dying_?

She forcibly pushed that thought away, knowing the answer. This was something she _had_ to do.

"_You're not outgrowing me, are you Clark?" _

Her mind's eye replayed the scenes of their times together over and over again. She'd tried to turn them off, not think about it, as if not thinking about it would make it all disappear. But the memories just kept coming and coming and finally she gave in to them. _He stopped in his tracks and turned, immediately crossing the distance between them in the crowded hallway. "Chloe, I could never outgrow you," he said, smiling that smile that she somehow knew was only for her. Then he added, just to get a rise out of her, "Except vertically."_

She knocked on the door. After a moment, Jonathan Kent answered. He looked haggard and tired, and his face told her he was surprised to have company.

Until this point, Chloe hadn't actually thought about what she'd say when she showed up at their door. "Uh…hi, Mr. Kent," the words came out before she'd even realized she'd said them. "Lana told me what happened…is Clark okay?"

"I…uh..yeah…he's just resting…on the coach," Mr. Kent said quickly. Chloe realized he was blocking the door, perhaps purposefully trying to discourage her from any further action. As odd as that was, nothing was going to stop her from seeing him, even when Mr. Kent tried to dissuade her by saying, "Uh…I'll be sure to tell him you stopped by to say hello."

He moved to close the door. Chloe reached out and caught it before he had the chance. Mr. Kent reacted with a start. Chloe blushed; she hadn't meant to seem so forceful. "Actually, I'm sorry, I must be more annoying than a door-to-door salesmen," she gushed, "but I was wondering if I could just sit with him for a while?"

The hardness in Jonathan Kent's eyes softened. "Uh yes…yes…Chloe I'm sorry," he said, stepping aside. "Sure, come on in. I'll wait upstairs."

"Okay, thanks," she said gratefully.

Without another word, Mr. Kent turned and headed upstairs, leaving Chloe standing in the foyer. She waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared before moving.

The old farmhouse seemed darker than normal, as if all of the life had been sucked out of it. It didn't _feel _right. The Kent home was a place that Chloe used to think had only existed in movies. She should have been greeted with the smell of freshly baked muffins or pies; Mrs. Kent should have been in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on her latest creation; the fireplace should have been lit; and Clark, when he heard the door, should have barreled down the stairs with a grin that said he was happy to see her.

Now, the big house was empty.

Turning toward the living room, Chloe tried to gather herself. Suddenly, all she wanted was to turn around so she wouldn't have to see him.

But her feet compelled her forward and when she saw him lying there, her breath caught in her throat.

Unconscious, breathing shallow and erratic, Clark lay on the small living room couch. He didn't look to be in pain; in fact, he looked like he was merely sleeping.

Her heart hammered in her chest, even as her mind could scarcely accept the fact that it was highly possible that she was losing her best friend. _This can't be happening, _she thought stubbornly, if only to protect herself from the heartbreak.

Drawn to the sounds of his peaceful breathing, Chloe crossed the space between them. All her senses were focused on him: the sight of him, the smell of him, the sound of his breathing. She wanted to take in everything. No, she _needed _to take in everything.

Taking the seat next his side, Chloe swallowed down her emotion. Smiling wanly, she whispered, "Hi Clark."

He didn't respond. She paused, waiting, then silently chided herself. What had she expected? For him to wake up like some Sleeping Beauty?

She reached out and touched his hair, surprised at how warm his forehead felt when her fingers brushed against it. When he didn't wake, she laid her hand on his arm. A bittersweet sensation washed over her soul as another memory threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

_She pulled into the driveway, her heart racing with excitement. It was really happening. They were really together!_

_He smiled brightly when he saw her. Pulling the car to a stop, she stepped out, careful not to let her dress fly away in the wind._

_Clark's pace quickened to meet up with her. _

"_Hi!" she called over the wind. He stopped in front of her, beaming like a little child. Chloe stifled a laugh. He was so adorable. She studied him, not for the first time noticing his attractiveness. Clark seemed to blush. It was then Chloe realized she was staring. _

_Her mind reeled for something to say to take the attention off the fact she'd been caught. She said the first thing that came to her mind. "What do you think? Too pink?"_

_Immediately she cringed, knowing full well that she'd just rhymed and Clark was probably going to give her a hard time about it later._

_Instead, he smiled and said, "No. You…you look beautiful."_

Beautiful! He said I was beautiful! _Now it was Chloe's turn to blush. "Thank you," she beamed, then she swatted him playfully, "You clean up pretty nice yourself."_

_Touching his tie, she commented, "What happened to the red tie?"_

"_Uh…instinct told me it was the wrong way to go," he answered._

_She couldn't help but snicker._ Thank god! _She knew Clark's favorite color was red, but red with her dress being pink…that was bound to make the pictures look funny._

_Looking down_ _she saw the plastic flower container still in his hand. "Is that for me?"_

_Clark gave a start, smiling sheepishly. "Uh, yeah," he said, opening the container and taking out the corsage. It was pink, not quite matching her dress but still gorgeous. He must have tried to match the colors. It was a sweet thought and she wasn't about to dissuade him. He took her hand and slid the corsage around her wrist._

"_Oh wow," she gasped. "It's beautiful."_

_She was beaming, grinning like a three year old at in a candy store and she knew it. "Oh! I have yours!"_

_For Clark's corsage she'd picked a single white rose. It seemed fitting, since the color white meant friendship and that's how they'd started – being friends._

But now we get to see if there's anything more behind the friendship_, she thought excitedly. Her hands shook as she tried to pin the corsage on his jacket. Was he as nervous as she was? If he was, he wasn't showing it._

_Clark watched her fidget, a warm smile playing on his lips. She seemed to feel his eyes on her and looked up, her eyes locking directly with his. Piercing blue eyes stared back at her. She forgot to breath._

_She'd always known Clark had blue eyes but how could she not have known they would look like this?_

_In those enigmatic blue orbs she thought she glimpsed the real Clark Kent. As funny as it sounded, it had always appeared to her that Clark was never whole, that something had always been missing and would always be missing. She could almost taste the years of loneliness and longing he had experienced. Once she had thought it was only because he was too obsessed with Lana to explore other options, but now she wasn't so certain. Was it possible that he was just waiting for the one he could trust?_

_Suddenly she knew that anything he could ever tell her wouldn't change the way she felt about him; that even if their relationship didn't work out that she would always be at his side, aiding him and helping him grow._

_Something passed between them, something new and exciting and scary. Chloe couldn't put her finger on it but whatever it was, she didn't want it to end. In those few, precious moments, there were no barriers between them. _

_A gust of angry wind brought her back to herself and she realized that if they didn't get going soon it was likely they'd be rained on. "We should go," she said._

Chloe sighed, looking at her tiny hand resting on his much larger arm. It was the arm she had hoped would hold her again someday. She couldn't deny her feelings for him. It had felt so right when he had taken her in his arms that night. It was uncanny how her body fit just right in his embrace. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that Clark would protect her with his life. She also knew that if she didn't say something soon, she'd lose it completely.

"Well this is going to make quite a story," she said, cheerfully stating the headline, "Clark Kent ends record breaking perfect attendance streak."

She stopped, abruptly realizing what she just said. "Sorry. I'm doing it again."

_"What was that all about?" she asked him._

_Clark looked back at Whitney, who was climbing into the driver's seat of his red pickup. Whitney had said he wanted to talk to him before he left. Seeing as how Whitney and Clark had never really gotten along, it had surprised her that he wanted to talk with him man-to-man. What had surprised Chloe even more was that Lana had so readily agreed to miss the Spring Formal so she could see Whitney off, especially since their relationship was so rocky right now._

_If something in the conversation had bothered Clark, he didn't show it. "Ah nothing," he said, turning that oh-so-handsome smile on her and slipping his arm around her waist. "Just guy stuff. Have I told you how beautiful you looked?"_

_She could feel herself blushing. "Yeah, but frequent reminders are always appreciated."_

Chloe felt the tears threatening to come. "I just…I've never seen you sick before. And that just got me thinking, you know, what if something did happen to you…and I never got to…" The words choked in her throat.

_It was her favorite song. Pete had told her later that Clark had requested it._

"_May I have this dance?"_

_Beaming, Chloe took his hand. "Of course," she said, slipping her arm through his. To her surprise, he covered her hand with his. She couldn't help but feel a thrill that they were so close._

She pulled her hand away, as if continuing to touch him would make her lose her courage. Heartsick with despair, she paused. The room was silent again. Only the sound of the wind rustling through the open kitchen window could be heard. When Chloe had moved to Smallville from Metropolis, she'd never thought she would come to enjoy the small town life such as she did. It was a comfort to her, especially because it was a piece of Clark.

_They danced. To Chloe, there was no one else in the world._

"_And I'm still here," he said softly._

"_Yeah, you are."_

Tears threatening to surface, Chloe grabbed her bag in an attempt to divert her attention. Her fingers quickly found the folded piece of notebook paper she'd shoved in there before she'd left. "So in yet another classic maneuver to avoid emotional intimacy, I wrote my feelings down so that I could read them to you, thereby avoiding embarrassing eye contact," she said quickly.

Her fingers shook as she unfolded the paper. Looking one last time at Clark, she took a deep breath and tried focusing on the words. Tears blurred her vision but she stubbornly pushed them aside.

She had to do this. She had to.

"I want to let you in on a secret," she began reading softly. "I'm not who you think I am. In fact, my disguise is so thin I'm surprised you haven't seen right through me. I'm the girl of your dreams, masquerading as your best friend. Sometimes I want to rip off this façade, like I did at the spring formal, but I can't because you'll get scared and you'll run away again. So I decided that it's better to live with the lie then to expose my true feelings."

She stopped. Her voice was shaking. She had to fight to keep her voice from cracking. "This is so much easier when you're unconscious," she joked to break the tension, touching his hair again. When she had composed herself, she continued, "My dad told me there are two types of girls: the ones you grow out of and the ones you grow into…" She couldn't hold back the tears anymore, nor could she control the brokenness in her words. "I really hope I'm the latter…I may not be the one you love today but I'll let you go for now, hoping one day you'll fly back to me. Because I think you're worth the wait."

_There. It's done, _she thought. Sniffling, Chloe folded the paper again and tried fruitlessly to wipe away the tears. She knew she should go, that her dad was expecting her home by now, but she was rooted to the spot. She'd heard that sometimes people in comas could hear the loved ones talking to them. If she could just reach him…If she could just touch him again…

Reaching out, she ever so gently stroked his cheek, willing him to wake with the depth of her love.

To her surprise, Clark stirred.

He furrowed his eyebrows as if he were dreaming. Chloe's heart leapt. Was it possible her words had brought him back? "Clark?" she said.

He didn't respond for a moment, but when he did, he broke her heart.

"Lana?"

The soft rasp of his voice seemed to echo throughout the whole room.

_Lana? _So that was it. She had come all this way, faced down her fears, poured her heart out to him, and in his delirium he'd called out for Lana.

It was too much. Tears streaming, Chloe hurriedly shoved the now useless piece of paper back into her handbag and shot out of the room as fast as she could.

Stopping at the door, she turned to look back at him with tear-filled eyes. If he only knew how much she loved him…


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you to all of you who have reviewed my story thus far. I have been really encouraged by your comments. Thank you all! This is a short chapter but it'll pick back up in Part 5, I promise :)_

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**Part 4**

The telephone rang.

Jonathan stood from where he sat at Clark's bedside. He hadn't moved since Chloe left. Jonathan had no idea why she had left in such a hurry but he was sure it had something to do with the feelings she had for him. Chloe and Clark had been friends since she moved to Smallville from Metropolis and it couldn't have been easy for her to see him the way he was.

Chloe was a good friend to him. Lana, however, had not been back to see his son and Jonathan only hoped he hadn't scared her away with his strange behavior. He hadn't been exactly forthcoming with an explanation and Lana was probably doubly angry that he hadn't let her call an ambulance.

How long ago was that? A day? A week? He couldn't remember.

He crossed the room and picked up the phone.

"Mr. Kent, this is Dr. Bryce," the female voice said on the other end. "I'm afraid I'm going to have you ask you to get to the hospital immediately," she said. "Your wife has taken a turn for the worst. We…uh…don't expect her to make it through the night."

Jonathan gripped the phone tighter, his heart suddenly racing.

Martha…his wife…._oh God._

Somehow, he found the words to speak. "Thank you, doctor. I'll…uh…be there when I can."

"I'll tell my orderlies to expect you," she said, then she lowered her voice. "How is Clark?"

"He hasn't woke yet," he replied.

She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Kent. Truly I am."

"Thank you, doctor."

Numbly, he put down the phone.

Jonathan had no idea what he was going to do. Tired and frustrated and desperate, he ran his hand across his chin, feeling the several days worth of stubble. He hadn't gone to the hospital to see Martha since Clark had fallen sick. Now he wished he'd made the effort.

He sat for a long time, frozen to his seat, hand still on the phone.

The two people he loved most in the world were…dying. His wife and his only son. Dying. He was alone, with no one to help him.

_Think, Jonathan, think!_

There had to be something he could do!

Slamming his hand down on the counter, Jonathan stood. Regardless, he couldn't just sit there. He had to do something. His family needed him.

Martha had said something to him, the last time he'd seen her in the hospital, something about the baby. She shouldn't have been pregnant, but somehow she'd been healed. She said she thought it was the ship, that somehow it had healed her body. Maybe the ship could help her…help them both.

It wasn't much hope, but it was enough to go on. Jonathan leapt to his feet and grabbed his jacket, pausing only momentarily at the door to glance back at his son. Martha wouldn't have wanted him to leave Clark, but Jonathan couldn't bear the thought of living life without either of them. If there was to be any chance, he had to try.

His body trembling with a new resolve, Jonathan crept as quietly as he could through the door. He had just stepped into the garden when the door opened behind him and he heard his son's voice call to him, "Dad!"

Jonathan turned to see Clark standing on the porch, a blanket wrapped tightly around him. His son's face was pale and his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. His eyes, although alert, were glazed and unfocused.

"Clark, you shouldn't be up," Jonathan shouted at him. He hated raising his voice, but Clark had to know just how serious his condition was.

"Where are you going?" Clark asked stubbornly.

Jonathan toyed with not answering, but decided it would only make Clark worry all the more. "I'm going to Pete's to get the ship," he said, putting on his jacket and turning his back.

"Now?" Clark sounded confused. When his father didn't answer, a frightening thought crossed his mind. "How's mom?"

Sure enough, his father stopped dead in his tracks, his face paling.

Jonathan couldn't lie to his son, so for several long moments, he simply said nothing.

Clark watched his father swallow several times, the wrinkles around his eyes tightening as he did so. He knew his father, better than anyone save his mother, and right now, his father looked truly frightened. Whatever it was, Clark was determined he wouldn't have to face it alone.

"Dad?" Clark pressed.

Finally, Jonathan turned and Clark was stung by the broken man he saw within him. "Clark, Helen says that your mother probably won't make it through the night."

It was too much to process. _Mom….no!_

"And now…you too."

_What? _Had he been infected too? Was he_…dying?_

It was impossible. Unthinkable. He was invulnerable, immune to sickness and disease…and yet…

On the verge of panic, Clark refused to think about himself. He stuttered, "No you…you can't think about me. We've gotta help mom."

"I'm not gonna lose my family!" Jonathan cried. "Not without a fight. Now if it takes a miracle then I'm just gonna have to go out and find one."

Realization dawned on Clark, and with it, a faint glimmer of hope. "The ship? You think it can cure me and mom?"

"I don't know, Clark!" Jonathan said, sniffling. He was beyond tired, running on frayed nerves and desperate adrenaline. "I'm just grasping at straws here. The doctors can't help you and your mother says she thinks that the ship helped her get pregnant. I don't know, maybe it's crazy."

"The only way to get it to work is that key," Clark said. The key that was now in the possession of the DCA.

"I know that, son," Jonathan said, his voice calming once again. "I also know exactly where the DCA took everything and I'm going there to get it right now."

"I'll go with you!" was Clark's immediate response.

"No! I want you to stay right here, you're too sick," Jonathan fired at him. He hadn't used a tone like that with his son in years and it made Clark stop in his tracks.

Clark looked as though he wanted to argue, but he made no effort to do so. Jonathan took advantage of that and said, in a calmer tone, "Go to bed, son."


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5 **

The DCA compound was heavily guarded with sentries, patrolling the perimeters. Jonathan had been crouching in the shadows for the past hour watching them. He timed their patrols, counting their steps until he knew them by heart.

When he was confident he could predict when the next patrol would make his rounds, he retrieved his wire cutters and began cutting a hole into the chain-link fence. It didn't take long to cut a slit in the fence large enough to fit his body through. He waited until the patrolman had passed before slipping inside.

It was quiet; so quiet Jonathan could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. The lot was empty as well, save for several unmarked military vehicles parked for the night. He'd have to make his way through them. He was a big man, and not easily hidden; if he kept to the safety of the shadows and moved from truck to truck, he'd have less chance of being spotted.

More than ever he wished he had his son's x-ray vision or super-hearing to aide in his stealth. With his senses kicked into overdrive, he was on alert for any sign of movement or the slightest of sound.

Halfway through the lot he heard footsteps in front of him. A patrolman must have decided to cut through the lot. If he didn't act within moments he'd be spotted.

Thinking quickly, Jonathan yanked the nearest truck door open and threw himself inside, being careful not to completely shut it for fear the sentry would hear the noise.

He held his breath and listened, pressing himself against the seat as the footsteps drew closer. Trembling hands held the door in place until the sound of the echoing steps receded into the distance.

Wasting no time, Jonathan slid out of the cab, crouching low so as to remain unseen. In the distance a truck engine revved, followed by the squeal of metal on metal. Jonathan's heart beat faster. He was in luck! A military vehicle was preparing for departure. If he could stay hidden long enough for it to pass and then make it inside before the garage door closed…

He made it, but barely. Jonathan broke into a run just as soon as the vehicle disappeared from sight and reached the rapidly closing garage door not a moment too soon. He rolled beneath it, right before it clicked shut behind him.

He was in. He wouldn't think about how he'd get out.

Yet.

Although the inside of the warehouse appeared to be deserted, Jonathan wasn't willing to test it. He crept through the maze of shelves, boxes, and other miscellaneous paraphernalia wrapped in plastic, all the while keeping his eyes and ears on alert for the presence of guards.

Nearing the center of the warehouse Jonathan gave a start, throwing himself behind a pallet of boxes. Light that came from somewhere nearby cast shadows onto the wall of at least two or more guards. Peering out from behind the boxes, Jonathan saw that the light was coming from an area of the warehouse completely sectioned off. This area was separated from the rest by walls of some kind of glass, creating a "room" inside the giant warehouse.

Jonathan waited, holding his breath, until they departed.

He would check that "room" first. It was only logical that the most recent cases would be stored in a sterile environment for extensive study.

Moving warily, he made his way toward it. He paused in front of the door and, hearing no sound, cautiously eased it open.

There were more metal shelves inside, covered to overflowing with all sorts of objects, each one painstakingly stored in a sterile plastic container. There were so many…how would he ever find the right one?

Jonathan's adrenaline deflated. Until this moment, he'd exercised extreme caution, not taking any chances. Now, being so close to what he sought, the desperation hit him. He began looking around recklessly, knocking things off shelves, frantically searching for something…_anything_…familiar.

He had to find it. He had to. He'd search all night if he had to.

Suddenly he spotted the name KENT scribbled in black ink on a large plastic bag out of the corner of his eye. _That's it! _he thought triumphantly.

The green flour tin stood upright on a shelf across the room, looking very much like it had before Martha had buried it. The DCA hadn't bothered to clean it, obviously wanting to leave as much contaminated residue on it as possible. Martha had hidden the key inside the tin before burying it in their storm cellar, covering the mound with cans of lead containing paint. The DCA search team had taken the key out of it before leaving the farm. The key had to be nearby.

He frantically searched the shelf. Martha had hidden the key out of fear that Clark would grow too curious about his former life and leave them. It was oddly ironic that because of this, not only would Clark leave them anyway, so would Martha.

Several seconds passed to no avail. _Calm down_, he insisted to himself,_ You'll miss it if you don't calm down._

After what seemed like an eternity, he found it. The odd-shaped key gleamed in the dim light, beckoning him with the hope he so desperately clung to. The word UNKNOWN had been scribbled onto the outside of plastic bag, something Jonathan would have found humorous had the circumstances been different. Stuffing it into his inside jacket pocket, he quickly left the room.

Forgoing caution over the need for haste, Jonathan dashed out into the warehouse. It was a careless mistake. No sooner had the door shut behind him, he heard the click of a gun being cocked directly at his back.

"Hold it right there!"

Jonathan froze. He'd been discovered!

"On the ground!" the guard bellowed. With his back turned, Jonathan was unable to see the patrolman who had caught him. He swallowed hard and raised his hands in surrender.

"Now!"

Heartbroken, Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the onslaught of tears he knew would inevitably overwhelm him as soon as his failure sank in. _I failed. Oh god, I failed. Now they'll die, both of them will die._ _I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Martha…I'm sorry Clark._

There was a shuffle of movement and suddenly the guard's body hit the ground.

Jonathan whirled to see…._Clark?_

He didn't know whether to be pleased or angry. Clark had disobeyed him and followed him, putting both their lives in danger, especially his own! He was too sick to be on his feet and he knew it!

All Jonathan's thoughts, however, vanished when Clark stumbled and had to grab onto the wall to keep himself upright. He dropped the object in his hand he had used to knock out the guard and inhaled sharply, his breathing more labored than it had been before. The exertion from following his dad into the compound had clearly taken its toll on him and he looked ready to collapse.

Jonathan rushed forward, catching his son before he fell. Clark smiled weakly at him. "I thought you could use a hand."

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With Clark's arm slung around his shoulder, Jonathan urged them both toward the nearest door. Clark leaned heavily on him, making it difficult to move quickly, but he couldn't help being thankful his son had come. If Clark hadn't, Jonathan's plans of escape would have been a failure.

As father and son, they stumbled together toward their only available option. They couldn't risk going through the garage again – the garage faced south. The hole Jonathan had cut into the fence was on the northern expanse of fencing, and beyond that, his pickup parked and waiting for their escape.

He'd originally gone around the lot because there had been too much open ground. Although he didn't like it, now it seemed it would be the smartest path. If they kept to the shadows, creeping through the obstacle course of the parked military vehicles, not only was that time-consuming, but they ran the risk of being cornered with no escape route should they be caught. No, the safest course would be right out in the open, where they had plenty of room to make a break for it.

Without another thought, Jonathan thrust the great metal door open. He had just a few seconds to monitor the activity outside before he heard it.

An alarm.

Cursing to himself, Jonathan picked up the pace. "We gotta run, son!"

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The Kent's pickup took off with a burst of speed. Seconds later, the gate to the compound opened and military vehicles poured out in hot pursuit.

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Visiting hours had long since ended, leaving the Smallville Medical Center an air of peacefulness that only came about at this time of night. The late night shift of doctors and orderlies moved silently through the halls, going about their business with little interaction from their fellow peers. It was for this reason that Dr. Bryce preferred working late. With all the of patients asleep in their rooms and the hospital staff busing themselves restocking shelves and preparing for the next day, Helen could work in her office without disruption.

She needed the quiet time to study and sort through her thoughts. Clark Kent's blood sample had both intrigued and disturbed her. She'd never seen anything like it. Living and working in Smallville, Helen had come across some of the most peculiar happenings. Rumor attributed the strange goings-on to the meteor shower that made Smallville go from the Creamed Corn Capitol of the World to the Meteor Capitol of the World. Her and her colleagues had treated everything from a patient whose body craved an abnormally enormous amount of high-concentrated body fat to patients exhibiting unusual behavior due to exposure to a toxic, yet presumably extinct, flower.

Helen had been convinced, until this point, that she had seen everything. And even if she hadn't seen everything, she'd seen enough that nothing should have surprised her.

But his blood….it wasn't like _anything_ she'd ever seen. She couldn't even begin to fathom its molecular structure.

"_Doctor, Clark's not exactly a normal boy_," Jonathan Kent had said to her. She hadn't understood what he meant, why he had fought so hard against taking his boy to a hospital, but now she did.

She glanced out the window, her mind suddenly turning to Lex. Did he know what was so special about his best friend? Surely he did. Could she ask?

No. She knew that answer already. She had told Jonathan that she took her doctor/patient vow very seriously and she wouldn't betray that trust. Helen felt that she loved Lex but she still wasn't entirely sure she could trust him.

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Down the hall from Dr. Bryce's office, Martha Kent lay peacefully in her bed. She had slipped into a coma of sorts; a profound state of unconsciousness that followed in the wake of her exposure to the unidentifiable toxin.

She hadn't responded to anything in the past twenty-four hours. Suddenly, without warning, her eyes snapped open and she gasped sharply.

The heart monitor beside her bed squealed, then flat-lined.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6 **

The Kent's pickup screamed down the highway, a handful of unmarked military vehicles hounding after it. The red farm truck didn't slow down, not even when a blinding light flashed in the rearview mirror from, strangely, somewhere above. Sweating, he saw in the rearview mirror that a helicopter had now joined the pursuit. He shifted gears. _Let's see how much this baby can do…._

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Helen was still deep in thought when her watch beeped. It was already 2:10 a.m. She needed to check in with the front desk and see if Jonathan Kent had arrived yet. She had just closed the door behind her when she saw two nurses race into Room 117; Martha Kent's room.

Without thinking she dashed towards the commotion and was greeted by the shrill tone of a flatline. Hurriedly sticking her stethoscope in her ears she checked for Martha's heartbeat.

Nothing.

Years of medical training kicked in and Helen reached for the reserve of calm she kept even as she reached for the panic button beside the door. "Code Blue! Room 117! Code Blue!" she said hurriedly.

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The speedometer on Jonathan's truck had been broken for years, so it was impossible to tell how fast he was going. The helicopter above had sited the pickup and concentrated it's searchlight on it, making it entirely impossible to make a clean getaway. Nervously, he glanced at his watch. _Almost there…_

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"Patient is experiencing cardiac emergency! Check for pulse!" the doctor snapped.

"No pulse, doctor! Unresponsive!" the nurse answered.

"Defibrillator!"

With practiced precision, Dr. Bryce peeled back Martha's hospital gown as a nurse thoroughly applied two gel pads to the contact points. Within seconds the necessary electrocardiogram leads were attached.

Dr. Bryce verified one last time for a lack of pulse, selected a charge, and placed the defibrillator paddles on the patient's chest. "Clear!" she called.

Martha Kent's body came up off the gurney as a jolt of electricity pounded through her.

Dr. Bryce swore under her breath as she looked at the unchanged heart monitor. Ten percent of the ability to restart the heart was lost with every single minute that her heart stayed in fibrillation. Death would occur in minutes unless they could get the normal heart rhythm restored.

"Clear!" she called again.

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Flashing lights; men with guns, pointed right at them. A roadblock! He saw it just in time. For a moment he considered the option of ramming right through it, but almost immediately pushed that thought away. Even if the feat always worked in movies, there were men crouched behind the blockading cars and there was no way he'd put anybody else's life in danger. Besides, this wasn't a movie. The only other option was to surrender.

The old pickup, not used to such treatment, squealed in protest as the breaks were slammed. He swerved to the left and the red pickup skidded to a halt.

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Dr. Bryce turned to the heart monitor one last time, only to be greeted with a grim silence. They had lost her.

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"Get out of the truck and put your hands up!"

Glancing at his watch, he took a deep breath and opened the door. The confused look on the officer's face was priceless and it took everything in him not to smile.

"Is something wrong officer?" Pete asked, putting on his best confused-face.

Puzzled and clearly angry, the men lowered their guns. "This guy doesn't fit the description!"

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In Pete's truck, Jonathan and Clark pulled to a stop in front of the hospital. It had been Pete's idea to swap vehicles and although Jonathan had rejected it at first, he was thoroughly glad for younger man's help. Not a single military vehicle had followed them, which could only mean that their plan had worked and the DCA were chasing Pete in Jonathan's truck at that very moment.

Jonathan hated to drag Pete into danger, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Pete Ross was loyal to his best friend and that he would gladly give up his own life to save him, just as Jonathan would.

There was no one about in the parking lot. Good; it would make what they were about to do all the more easier to try to explain. Or, if they were lucky, not have to explain at all.

As soon as the truck came to a halt, Jonathan all but fell out of the cab, tearing off the tarp that covered the space ship in the truck bed.

Clark managed to open the door but he was losing strength by the second. His effort to keep his body upright was slipping and Jonathan had to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Stay with me, son," Jonathan said. Fighting to keep from blacking out, Clark limply grasped onto him. He swayed unsteadily but Jonathan held him upright and hurriedly urged him toward the truck bed. Once they'd reached the ship, Clark dropped the key…or was it pulled out of his hand?

They key bobbed in the air, as if held there by an invisible hand, before turning in midair and coming rest inside the small octagonal shaped depression.

It was then that Clark's legs gave out and he slumped forward. Jonathan felt his son slipping and gripped him tighter. The ship had raised itself into the air, its lights coming on as the key tapped into its internal power source.

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Martha Kent wasn't the first patient to pass in Helen's care, but no matter how inevitable or how often, it didn't make it any easier. Death was a fact of life, something that as a doctor, Helen understood very well. She couldn't, however, help but feeling an ache for Martha's family. Mr. Kent hadn't even been here when it happened. And Clark…

Moving with a respectful silence, the nurse drew the gown back up over the deceased woman's shoulders as Helen checked her watch. "Time of death…2:17 a.m."

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The light from the ship was growing. Instinctively, Jonathan pulled Clark back and away from the truck. The light grew brighter and brighter until suddenly, it exploded.

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Dr. Bryce was almost knocked off her feet when something inexplicable happened. All at once, a brilliant bright light flooded the room, bringing with it an energy so pure it felt as if it were simply condensation in the air. Wind lifted the ends of her hair and rattled papers on the wall. Confused, Helen lifted her arm over her eyes in an attempt to see what was going on but the light was far too bright for her sight to penetrate.

And as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

When the light disappeared, so did the strange sensation of energy in the air, but the aftermath left her senses tingling. _What on earth--? _Her thought was disrupted when a new sound filled her ears: the heart monitor, which had only minutes ago gone silent, was beeping steadily again.

Martha Kent began to cough as new air filled her lungs.

"I don't believe it!" one of the nurses exclaimed.

It was impossible!! _Impossible…_

Helen hurriedly stuck the stethoscope back in her ears and placed it on Martha's chest, only to hear a full, strong heartbeat. _She was alive!_

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_I apologize ahead of time that this chapter was not only so short but also so abrupt. My house was broken into over the weekend so I actually wrote this chapter in need of a stress reliever. On the good side, I had a fabulous holiday in Chicago with my husband! Anyway, th__is is pretty much the end of the story, however, I am going to tag on an epilogue to sum up how everybody recovers from this trying event, including Lana and Chloe. But, with everything going on, I am not sure how long it will take me to do this. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter for me! Your words encourage me!_

_Much love,_

_-sayrae3times-_


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